


Right Hand Man

by tree



Category: The Fall (TV)
Genre: F/F, Masturbation, Queer Character
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-10-18
Updated: 2014-10-18
Packaged: 2018-02-21 14:53:37
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,296
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2472278
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/tree/pseuds/tree
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>She is the most compelling woman you've ever met.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Right Hand Man

**Author's Note:**

  * For [pasiphile](https://archiveofourown.org/users/pasiphile/gifts).



 

Later, you will consider your life in two acts, like a play. Act I is everything before Stella Gibson. Act II is everything after.

 

 

Sarah Kay's milky eyes stare back at you now whenever you close your own. You want to vomit every time, but you don't. 

It isn't as if you've never seen a dead body before. You've seen them shot, stabbed, strangled, drowned in their own sick. But never anything like this. Never this deliberate, careful cruelty. 

You fucked up. It's a litany, over and over in your head, part of your heartbeat. 

 

 

"You'll think of something," she says and you sigh.

It's flattering—a statement of confidence in your ability. But underneath that is the command, and with it an utter assurance that she will get what she wants. You have a feeling that Stella Gibson always gets what she wants.

 

 

"So what did you want my nail varnish for?"

Your cousin Emma is over and together you've had half a bottle of wine. You might regret it in the morning, but for now it makes a nice change from the jittery feeling of having more coffee than blood in your veins.

"You know I can't talk about the investigation."

"But it's got something to do with it, right?"

"Yeah."

She grimaces. "I don't think I want it back when you're done."

With a sigh, you let your head fall against the couch. "We lost another detective today. Shot himself."

"God, Dani." Emma reaches over for your hand. "I'm so sorry. Did you know him?"

"Not really. It's just— first James Olson's murder and now this." Your voice drops, as though you're revealing a secret, as though there is anyone else to hear. "I was there."

"What?"

"Not in the room, but just down the hall, in DSI Gibson's office. We heard the shot and then someone screaming and we ran." You take another sip of wine. "It was ridiculous in a way. Police everywhere and all of us just standing, frozen there with the shock of it I suppose. Except her. She told us what to do, managed everything."

Emma's voice is sympathetic. "It must've been awful."

"It was." 

What you don't tell her is that you were also strangely numb. That after the shock wore off it was all very routine, just another day on the job. What worries you is that you don't feel more. You've seen it in others, that slow erosion of empathy that comes from too much exposure to the terrible things human beings do to each other. You always swore it would never happen to you, but now you're afraid that it's something out of your control.

You're grateful when Emma tries to lighten the mood. 

"So what's she like, this Detective Superintendent Gibson? Apart from good in a crisis. And gorgeous." At your look she shrugs. "I watch the news like everyone else."

How do you describe Stella Gibson to someone else when you're not even certain of her yourself? "She's smart. Really smart. Very sure of herself. At first I thought she was cold, but... I don't know. It's more that she's contained."

"So the strong, silent type. Sexy." Emma bumps your shoulder.

This morning you watched her paint her nails, the red like blood, stripe by stripe. She turned and smiled slightly and you didn't know how to read that look, what it meant, but suddenly you were imagining drawing her finger into your mouth and sucking it, her nail scraping slightly on your tongue. Just the memory of it makes you flush all over again.

"I came out to her."

Emma chokes on a mouthful of wine. "What?"

"She asked me if I had a man and I said no. And then I just blurted it out."

"What did she say?"

"Nothing."

"She ignored you?"

"No, she looked at me. And she sort of smiled. And then she went back to talking about work."

 

 

After Emma leaves you fall exhausted into bed. For the first time since it all began, when you close your eyes Sarah Kay isn't looking back. Instead you see Stella Gibson's smile. The second one. That sly quirk of the corner of her mouth and the two little curved lines that appeared. They made something go hot and liquid in your pelvis. 

You're so tired. You tell yourself you need to sleep.

Rolling over, you shove your head deep into the darkness of the pillow until tiny stars seem to shine inside your eyelids.

Her mouth.

Part of you is disgusted with yourself. There's a man out there right now who has stalked, raped, and murdered three women. And he's most likely already targeted the next. But all you can think about is Stella Gibson.

She is the most compelling woman you've ever met. The still point around which everything moves.

You roll over again and stare at the ceiling. The clock beside the bed glows a soft 11:49 in your peripheral vision. 

11:50. 

She has freckles across her nose and cheeks. They ought to seem incongruous with her cool, controlled demeanour, yet somehow they don't. You wonder if she has freckles anywhere else. You wonder if you'll ever have the opportunity to find out.

Just because she fucked James Olson doesn't mean she only fucks men.

During the press conference her blouse was undone just a little too far. One side had folded back to reveal the white plain of her chest. It was like an arrow guiding your eyes down to the space between her breasts and you couldn't look away. Your mouth was dry. 

Remembering it now, heat blossoms between your legs and your skin tingles. Again you see that sphinx-like smile, those clear, unreadable eyes on you.

You try desperately to think of something other than her mouth, her breasts. Something other than her.

Does she let go of that icy control when she comes? What does she sound like when she laughs?

James Olson might be able to tell you if he weren't dead. You've never envied a dead man before.

Somehow your hand has strayed under your t-shirt and is drawing slow patterns on your belly. What if it had been you she invited to her hotel room? You she fucked in the early hours of the morning? 

Your hand on your breast, the nipple tight and hard.

Stella. You practice saying it in your head, but it sounds foreign, almost taboo. Ma'am. That's better. Would she like to be called ma'am in bed? You imagine her directing you with that deliberate, measured voice, those speaking silences.

Your other hand slides into your pants.

Her mouth. Her breasts. Her thighs.

Would she moan when you went down on her? When you fucked her with your fingers and sucked on her clit? Would she lie flat on the bed or straddle your face?

You're so hot you can hardly breathe, squirming against your own fingers, against the sheets. Your mouth on her breasts, her tongue in your mouth, her hands with their red nails sliding, gliding.

"Dani," she says, "come for me."

Those eyes, that smile. _Yes, ma'am_.

 

 

In the morning it's surprisingly easy to meet her direct gaze, to do your job, as if you hadn't come hard, twice, the night before with the idea of her naked and sweaty in your head.

You feel no embarrassment, no sense of shame.

She chose you, specifically, and this is now your life. In a handful of days that have felt like weeks she's taught you that wanting something isn't wrong, that you can learn to deal with the consequences.

You're not in love with Stella Gibson. You don't even really know if you like her.

But you want to find out.

**Author's Note:**

> This kept trying to be a character piece when I wasn't looking. I hope I managed to wrangle it enough to be enjoyable as femslash. Thanks, pasiphile, for giving me an excuse to watch this show again.


End file.
